


Uncut Stone

by erikablair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aladdin AU, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxon Paganism, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dubious Consent, F/M, Inspired by Aladdin (Disney Movies), M/M, Medieval Britain, Obsession, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Prostitute Hermione, Prostitution, The Deathly Hallows, Thief Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikablair/pseuds/erikablair
Summary: Aladdin AU; Set in Medieval Britain - Tom Riddle, Advisor to the Crown, is destined for greatness, hungry for power. In a plot for the throne, he searches for the fabled Wealth of Woden; a place that is said to hold great instruments of magick, and an amulet said to house a Goddess' heart. But in order to enter, he must find the diamond-in-the-rough.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 52
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story! Please don't hate me for not updating the others, I will get to them. This came about from watching Aladdin with my niece and nephew the other day and I decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy it!

Royal Advisor Riddle shifted irascibly upon his well-oiled leather saddle; his dark, stormy eyes scanned the horizon for the thief as he fingered his half of the pewter raven. Asmodeus, his prized midnight destrier, pawed at the ground impatiently, unused to being still. The pounding of hooves echoed across the sodden green fields, Mundungus Fletcher sitting astride a buckskin rouncey came to a shuddering halt before the wealthy nobleman.

"You are late," Riddle growled.

Mundungus flopped off his horse and bowed deeply, prostrating himself before the man. "Sorry fer that, mi lord."

"Do you have it?" Riddle asked lowly.

Mundungus grinned, his blackened teeth on display.

"I ha' to slit a few throats, but I got it," he said, pulling the other half of the pewter raven from beneath his threadbare, stained cloak.

Riddle reached for it expectantly only for Mundungus to pull it back. His fist tightened on the leather reins to stop himself from sheathing his sword into the other's torso – he still required him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mundungus tutted. “Mi reward?”

A rush of air and the precious piece was gone, and in Riddle's hands, a serpent slipped back under Riddle's cloak, writhing beneath the cloth. Mundungus flinched.

"Trust me, my pungent friend," Riddle purred, his hand closing over the item possessively. "You'll get what's coming to you."

Grinning sharply, Riddle pulled the other half from beneath his cloak and clasped them together. Immediately it glowed silver and flew into the distance at break-neck speed. Riddle hurriedly mounted his horse and pursued the raven with a cry, Mundungus following closely behind.

Pressing his heels insistently into Asmodeus' sides, he urged the stallion to go faster. Seeing the bird dive into an unfamiliar lake, he pulled the reigns back harshly, watching as a section of the lake descended, revealing flooded stone steps leading into cavernous darkness. A ghostly figure rose, her long silver hair draped loosely over her back, her sapphire dress rippling around her waif-like figure. Looking up with matching eyes, she assessed the two of them and smiled dreamily.

Riddle exhaled in victory. He had found it, the Wealth of Wōden.

"By God, it's real…" Mundungus murmured, bringing Riddle's attention back to him.

He clasped Mundungus' cloak roughly, hauling the filthy vagrant close to him.

"Now remember," Riddle instructed fervently, "bring me the amulet, the rest of the treasure is yours. But the amulet is _mine_."

Mundungus nodded shakily, and Riddle shoved him towards the stairs. Licking his lips greedily, Mundungus approached the stone steps. As he reached the cusp, the girl spoke.

"Who enters the Wealth of Wōden?" she asked, her voice ringing like bells.

"Mundungus Fletcher," he introduced sloppily.

She hummed before fixing her gaze beyond, locking eyes with Riddle.

"Know this," she intoned, "only one may enter here, one whose worth lies far within – the-diamond-in-the-rough."

Mundungus looked back at Riddle nervously, but he waved him forth, and Mundungus took small, hesitant steps to the descent. Creeping down the first few steps, Mundungus breathed a sigh of relief when he was still alive. Abruptly the girl's expression twisted, and a blinding light encased the area. Sounds of crushing waves, swallowed the terrified scream of Mundungus Fletcher and then the lake was still, the girl gone, and the two halves of the pewter raven lay on the nearby shore.

Riddle clenched his jaw, another day without. He picked up the raven, scraping off the sand absently. "It seems I need to find him Nagini," he hissed to his snake, who had popped her head out curiously. "This fabled diamond-in-the-rough."

* * *

Fleeing from the guards, Harry covered in soot and dirt, dodged and weaved to avoid their capturing hands and their cutting swords. 

"Stop, thief!"

Harry did not stop. He slipped into an alley, dismayed to see it was dead-end.

"I'll take your ear for this, street-rat," Malfoy the younger snarled, Crabbe and Goyle either side of him.

Eyes quickly darting around the alley, Harry spied a stack of wooden barrels he could climb. Scampering quickly, he deftly clambered up and onto the adjacent rooftops sprinting across them with light feet. Hedwig flew beside him, chirping in warning whenever his pursuers got too close. Grabbing a small clay pot in her talons she dropped it on Goyle, letting out a triumphant hoot when he let out a pained grunt. 

"Thanks, Hed!" Harry praised.

Slipping in through a nearby window, the heady scent of perfumed oils permeated the air disguising the smell of unwashed bodies. Whores gazed at him with empty eyes, dismissing him as a customer and continued to call out to the men on the street like souls in want. Averting his eyes from their thinly clothed forms, he waited for the clanking of heavy armour and the enraged yells of Malfoy to fade. 

Exhaling in relief, he started as a small feminine hand rested on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a collection of bushy hair framing a pale olive face, with deep-set brown eyes and a pert nose.

"Mione," he greeted soberly.

"Harry," Hermione squeezed his shoulder, "you can't keep out of trouble, can you?"

"You know me," Harry answered, patting Hermione's hand.

She shook her head fondly before delicately sitting beside him, the neck of her dress falling open to reveal several blooming bruises littering her flesh. Folding her hair behind her shoulder, his eyes grew hard.

"They're not that bad," she murmured, pushing him away.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't argue further, it would only upset her.

"Do you want to see what I managed to get today?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a brittle smile before guiding him to the back away from the gallery. Wanton moans and lecherous cries drifted from behind closed doors, polluting the hallways causing Harry's cheeks to flush.

Sitting at the bench, Harry brought out a small loaf of bread, a cut of cheese, and some apples. Hermione's eyes widened seeing the spread.

"Good day then?" she asked teasingly.

"Yes, for some reason, the owner seemed quite distracted."

She let out a tinkling laugh, and Harry felt his chest lighten at the sound. Splitting the food, they ate leisurely groaning in appreciation at the taste. After a few moments, Hermione's walnut eyes locked onto his verdant green.

"You should leave Harry," Hermione insisted, "Madame Bellatrix will be back soon, and you know she won't hesitate to force you downstairs."

Grimacing, Harry nodded. Pressing a swift kiss to Hermione's cheek, he crept out the back window making his way to a place among the clouds. His own private, crumbling tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments down below and my [Tumblr](https://erikablair.tumblr.com/) is always open
> 
> Also, I have not decided on who I will have as the King and the Prince/Princess (though I have some ideas) so if you have any suggestions please let me know :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, I hope you guys enjoy it! I'm pretty sure who the King and Prince will be :)
> 
> Warning: dub-con sexual scene

Hermione let out a licentious moan as Draco laved her neck with his tongue, his hands pushing up her dress impatiently. Feeling teeth at her neck, she resisted the instinct to grow rigid instead mewling as he mauled her, changing the pitch of her pained gasps so he would interpret them as pleasured groans. She barely had time to adjust before he was inside her, setting a brutal pace as she met each of his thrusts with practised movements, knowing his vices intimately. It wasn't long until he came with a guttural cry, shooting his seed deep inside her. He lazily licked at her chest, leaving more of _his_ marks on her skin with sharp sucks and nips before pulling out of her.

He smirked seeing her rumpled state, the soft sheen of sweat, making her skin glisten like the early morning sun. Grabbing her by her hair, he pulled her up, so she was eye-level with his cock watching her in silent command. She barely hesitated before taking his cock in her mouth, curling her tongue around it and breathing it deep into her throat. Fisting the back of her head, he once again set the pace, Hermione adapting quickly. Cumming with a shout he watched her throat bob with satisfaction – fuck he loved seeing her swallow him.

He pulled her off with a pop and kissed her greedily, mapping out every crevice with his tongue and teeth till every inch of her mouth was claimed. The taste of him on her tongue, made him growl heatedly. He dragged his lips across her cheek to her ear, leaving a line of saliva as he slid. Stroking the sides of her neck with his fingers, he felt her stiffen and huffed out a laugh.

"Fuck, Hermione," he whispered, feeling her quiver beneath his palms. "You drive me crazy. I swear I'm addicted to your sweet cunt."

Licking his lips, Draco gave into temptation and kissed her again filthily, his hands never leaving the sides of her throat, feeling her butterfly pulse race.

"But," he said with deceptive mildness, knocking their foreheads together, mercury meeting umber, "how do I know I'm the only one?"

Hermione's eyes widened in panic, and she quickly sought to soothe him, whispering sweet nothings. Humming, he allowed himself to be lulled into his fantasy.

* * *

Shading himself behind the cob wall, Harry's stomach rumbled. He shook his head as Colin Creevey offered back Harry's stolen loaf he had gifted him and Denis. They needed it more than him. Hedwig chirped as she feasted on her hunted rat; at least she wouldn't be going hungry. Excitable chatter drifted from the square, curious Harry made his way there, ensuring he kept to the back of the crowds to escape the guards' notice.

There was a procession passing; knights in glinting armour trooping besides a gilded carriage, the windows wide enough to glimpse the Lady within. Huge azure eyes rested on a porcelain face; long silvery-blond hair tied in elaborate knots twisted to the base of her neck, her beauty was impossible, ethereal. Combined with her willowy figure, she appeared almost elven.

From the crowds muttering he discerned she was a lady of high-noble birth from France, Fleur Delacour. Another maiden seeking queendom. Harry flicked his eyes in disinterest, the ascension of a new King and Queen was less than exciting. Nothing would change for an urchin like him.

Denis and Colin appeared either side of him, watching the grandeur with bright eyes, extolling the Lady's loveliness. As the convoy drew nearer, the crowd began to swell in a bid to get closer. Separated by the crowd's jostling, Denis had been shunted to the front. Raucous and uncaring, a particularly violent shove sent the boy careening into the cavalcade's path, falling to his hands and knees before the leading knight.

The knight's perlino palfrey reared in fright, preparing to strike the young boy. Pushing through the crowd, Harry rushed over, scooping up Denis and rolling out of striking distance from those perilous hooves. At Harry's behest, Colin waited anxiously on the sidelines, shuddering in relief as Denis was deposited in his arms. Stroking his brother's back in assurance, he gazed at Harry's with hero-worship, murmurs of thanks pouring from his mouth.

"How dare you!" a voice sounded, burred by a thick French accent.

Turning his attention away from the boys' Harry saw it was the leading knight, dismounting his horse, his bascinet off-kilter. Stomping his way over, Harry saw his armoured fingers twitching for the sword resting on his side. Planting his feet firmly, Harry faced him shielding the Creevey's. Looming over the group, the knight fixed them with a fierce glare waiting expectantly for the grovelling apologies. Harry stood firm, green eyes glacial.

Sneering, the knight grasped his sword; Harry seeing the movement, dislodged the knight's stance with a slide of his foot the weight of his armour bringing the man down with a clang. Flushing from the crowd's jeering, he sprung up with a snarl his steel broadsword inches from the boy's neck when it was rebuffed with a clash. Following the iron longsword, he saw another boy; red hair matted and filthy, a dangerous expression on his face.

"What is going on here?" a feminine voice interrupted, wisps of a French accent clinging to her words as the Lady glided towards the skirmish. She scowled, seeing her head knight, locking swords with someone from the crowd.

"Dumont," she scolded, "What is the meaning of this?"

"They purposely interfered with our journey," Dumont said petulantly, his sword reluctantly hanging at his side, grip white-knuckled on the hilt.

Dismissing him, she glanced at the group of boys her nose scrunching delicately at their appearance. "What happened?" she asked.

"I-I fell in front of your knight," the small, mousy-haired boy stammered. "Harry," indicating the dark-haired, green-eyed boy beside him, "rescued me before I could get trampled."

After eyeing him for a few moments, she nodded, "Dumont go back to your horse, I will follow shortly."

"But my Lady-"

“Vous remettez en question mes commandes?” she challenged.

Lowering his head in acquiesce, he returned to the front, glaring at the band of boys as he sat astride his palfrey.

"I apologise, Dumont can be…" she seemed to contemplate the words for a moment, "easily excitable."

Muscle twitching in his cheek, Harry gave a small, short bow in acceptance, the bow skirting the line between respect and mocking. Intriguing. She noticed the red-headed boy's glazed eyes, jaw hanging absently and internally rolled her eyes. Men. Noticing her gaze, Harry elbowed Ron harshly in the side. Sending a brief glare in Harry's direction, rubbing the soft flesh beneath his ribs, Ron bowed to her as well but in reverence.

She heard the impatient muttering of Dumont and sighed, she supposed she shouldn't be late. Apologising for her knight's once again, she graced them with a smile before re-entering her carriage, immediately setting off in a canter.

Harry watched her leave disinterestedly, more focused on the knight at the front. He knew he would be trouble. The crowd, discussing the Lady's kindness and beauty, didn't pay attention to the four boys who slipped back into the shadows. They wondered if she would be able to win the Prince's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments down below and my [Tumblr](https://erikablair.tumblr.com/) is always open


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it :D

Fleur smiled distractedly as she was led to the Great Hall by the red-headed royal clerk, humming absently as he pointed out the various riches that dotted the rough-cut stone walls of Hogwarts. English castles, harsh and imposing, were distinctly different from the smooth, elegant structures of her homeland. Everything here had a touch of wildness to it, a roiling energy that saturated the very air.

Hearing a disgruntled cry, she turned from the tapestry she was admiring to see the clerk’s hair dishevelled and his face flushed. Boisterous laughter drew her attention to the figure beside him; he was quite… roughish. Hair the same shade as wildfire, eyes reflecting the cloudless skies of France, and a wolf-fang hanging from his ear; she found herself eyeing him interestedly.

“I apologise, my Lady,” the clerk murmured, attempting to smooth out his hair. “My uncouth brother was just leaving.”

“Lighten up, Percy,” he jovially admonished, ignoring the glare.

“I would _William_ if we weren’t in the presence of a Noble Lady.”

Bill rolled his eyes at Fleur, causing her to purse her lips to stifle the bubble of laughter.

“She is a potential courtesan for the Prince,” Percy declared.

“Is she now?” Bill remarked, observing her.

“Yes, so if you don’t mind- “’

“Would you like me to accompany you, my Lady? I have business with the King, and if you wouldn’t object to my presence, I’d be happy to escort you,” Bill interrupted, a debonair smile on his lips.

Ignoring Percy’s spluttering, she delicately tucked her arm into Bill’s proffered one and allowed him to pull her into his side.

“This is entirely inappropriate; she is not one of you _women_ Bill!” Percy scolded.

Fleur arched an eyebrow as she watched Bill’s face stiffen, a cutting smirk replacing his previous charming expression.

“Oh Perc, you really shouldn’t listen to rumours. You know how Riddle **hates** gossipmongers,” Bill reminded. “Now why don’t you run along back to Chancellor Rookwood, I’m sure he has plenty of charters for you to deliver to the local Lords.”

Reddening from Bill’s rebuke, Percy excused himself with a quick departing bow before stomping off in the opposite direction to the throne room, muttering under his breath.

“Sorry about that,” Bill apologised. “Percy is a very… determined individual.”

“It seems you are much the same,” commented Fleur. “You were rather insistent on escorting me.”

“Well, who can resist a pretty girl?” he remarked.

“I see,” Fleur replied stilted.

“But that’s not the only reason,” Bill revealed awkwardly.

“Oh?”

Bill cringed at her cold tone, “I read some of your correspondence with the Prince, you seemed well-versed in politics, especially surrounding trade and finance.”

“Well, my father only has my sister and me,” Fleur explained. “He wanted us to be able to argue as well as any Nobleman, he does not suffer fools and thanks to his teachings many bumbling suitors have sought for more _soft-spoken_ brides.”

Bill laughed uproariously, “gorgeous, outspoken, intelligent; I think the Prince will have his hands full with you.”

“You think so?”

“You don’t sound particularly excited at that prospect.”

“That isn’t strictly true; it is a wonderful opportunity.”

“But?”

“But as you as said, I am outspoken. Being an English Queen, while prestigious in position, does not give me much freedom in what I can say.”

Tilting his head in consideration, Bill conceded to her point.

“How about you?” Fleur asked.

“What about me?”

“Well, what position do you have that you can read the Prince’s correspondence and know about trade and finance? I assume you are some Lordling?”

“I’m training in the Exchequer, but no, I am certainly no Lordling,” Bill ignored Fleur’s inquiring brow. “As for the Prince’s correspondence, I am a close companion of his, he trusts my judgement and knowing my work thought I would find you letters interesting.”

“Fascinating, so what are your impressions of the Prince?” Fleur questioned.

“I think I will let you make your own assumptions, as we have now reached the throne room.”

Resisting the urge to pout, she straightened up and waited for their announcement to the King and Prince.

* * *

Riddle stalked through the back alleys, searching for the painted door. The shadows that inhabited these backways did not dare glance at him. Concealed though he was, they _knew_ he was someone important. He stood tall, regal; his cloak billowed around him whole and clean, not like the threadbare, filthy robes they wore.

He found it. Painted in a garish purple, eyes carved into the wood he knocked, flicking his hand free of the peeling flakes of paint. Peering out from the door was a thin woman doused in extravagant silk shawls, layered in beads and chains, with a pair of bone eyeglasses riveted to either side of her nose.

“Who is seeking an audience with Sybil Trelawney, daughter of Brigit?” she asked mystically.

Rolling his eyes at her dramatics, Riddle surreptitiously glanced around before lowering his hood enough for her to identify him. Eyes widening, she dropped her act and gestured him in quickly. The air was pungent with the cloying smell of incense, and Riddle withheld the urge to cough as the taste of it sat heavily on his tongue. Leading him through the colourful front room, adorned with vibrant but cheap cloths, tarot cards and glass ornaments, she hurried into the backroom pushing aside the heavy curtain and unlocking the door with a rusty key.

Passing the threshold, his feet sank into the plush carpet the change in opulence stark and immediate. While the other room was no less colourful, here the fabrics covered every inch of space, stitched in complicated patterns, richly dyed with silken sheens. It was also less cluttered. Various herbs dotted the wall, a wooden bowel sitting beneath and on the lone stone table, situated in the centre of the room sat a crystal ball, fog swirling within waiting to take form.

Trelawney indicated for Riddle to sit down as she prepared herself. Darting over to herb wall, she plucked wormwood, mugwort, vervain and stalks of yarrow before putting them into her mortal and crushing them into a fine powder. Dancing fire between his fingers Riddle waited for Madame Trelawney to return with her concoction, flicking a flame towards the powder as she placed it on the table in front of her. She inhaled the rising smoke.

Instantly she began to shake, as seizures wracked her sitting form. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the white of her eyes glowing. Tilting his head in interest, Riddle watched the spasms wracking through her body, the whispering wheezes of foreign voices escaping her parted lips. It was always interesting to see her like this, her ascension. She became still then viper-quick she raised her head to fix him with milky eyes.

“What is it you seek?” she inquired, her voice deep and rasping, ominous as voices, not hers echoed her question in parallel.

“I seek for the key to the Wealth of Wōden, I seek this diamond-in-the-rough,” his voice edged with demanding.

Trelawney laughed, head tilted back in hilarity. Riddle tightened his fist but did not go for his blade. He knew better than to antagonise _her_.

“Foolish boy,” she cooed cruelly. “You seek something that is beyond your mortal understanding. Powers and Beings who do not take kindly to being shackled, to being made to _serve_.”

Riddle sat unmoved.

“I see…” her mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk; it looked wrong on Trelawney’s face. “The boy you seek is indeed one of great heart and spirit. One who despite the darkness bleeds light.”

“A name?” he growled.

She tutted, “patience. It is a boy whose parents you have met but are longer living; a boy, a foundling. His name will be one familiar to you, but I will not reveal it. Instead-“

She hovered her hands over the crystal ball; Tom watched as the smoke writhed and deepened in colour. He was filthy. Ink-black hair curled around his head haphazardly, grime and dirt only worsening its state. His skin was blackened with soot, pale streaks of ivory peeking between the grime. Despite his squalid state, Tom could see the pointed features that spoke of high birth. Seeing the boy raise his head, Tom’s mouth curled in interest. Green, _green_ eyes shone, sharp, hard, and flickering with forest fire. This was the _one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments down below and my [Tumblr](https://erikablair.tumblr.com/) is always open


End file.
